


One Foggy Night

by runawaygypsy



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1540406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaygypsy/pseuds/runawaygypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom is intrigued by a mystery woman who roams along the river bank every foggy evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Foggy Night

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after watching "Henry and June" so it might seem a bit flowery and poetic at the beginning...

He spied her, walking amidst swirling fog, her face illuminated by the lights as they danced off the glistening waters of the river. She was dark like the night, hair flowing softly against her back with hints of red. Her petite frame silhouetted against the city, its neon and phosphorescence a minimalist representation against her soft curves. Even from this vantage, she stirred something inside him. 

He had seen her here before, always on nights like this, when the fog came out to play, not just thin wisps, substantial clouds descended from the Heavens to cover the Earth. Each time, she strolled the river walk, taking her time, observing every glint, every bit of moonlight that filtered through, humming to herself. He had considered approaching her, introducing himself, but it seemed almost inconsequential to do so. He didn't know what to say if he had; would he admit that he had been watching her ritual for months now, taking it into his own imagination the time they may finally meet? He thought it almost vulgar, these dreams of her, like a violation of her own basic right to privacy, and yet, here he was again, an audience in her theatre.

He followed well enough behind her, usually, picking up a newspaper, occasionally fiddling with his phone or iPod. It was always something so, should she turn around and notice him, she would be suspicious of nothing. Yet tonight, he got closer to her than he had ever done before. He was advancing upon her when his cell phone rang out from his pocket; his ring tone a cacophony interrupting the solitude of the night. He saw her jump, surprised by the intrusion and smiled guiltily as he fished the offending mechanism from his jacket pocket and turned it off. Whomever it was could leave a message.

“I'm so sorry,” he called, his voice echoing more than it seemed it should have. He smiled at her, hoping to charm her and walked tentatively closer.

She reflected his smile, shyly, and answered, “It's alright. I was just going.” She turned to leave, attempting to vanish back into the haze.

He reached out and took her arm, a presumptuous gesture, but there was sincerity in his eyes. “I really am sorry,” he said, “I should be the one to leave. You should stay, enjoy your evening.”

She was initially alarmed, but she softened then, relaxing despite his grip. “Well, thank you, I would love to stay. These foggy nights are my favorites.” Gently, she pulled her arm from his hand and turned away.

“I know,” he whispered under his breath. 

“Excuse me?” she asked, turning back to him, face curious now.

He stepped closer once again, this time she didn't step away. “My name's Tom,” he said, holding out his hand.

She grasped it, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers, chilled from the night. She knew exactly who he was, had seen his movies. “Kate,” she answered. She felt electricity with him and it both scared her and enthralled her.

As she lingered, holding his hand, he thrilled, her touch stirring something inside of him. “Tell me, Kate, what is it about the fog that brings you out?”

She let his hand drop, not abruptly, but almost eloquently, and closed her eyes. “On nights like this, I can imagine that I am an angel and flying through the clouds, closer to Heaven. I am a feather in the wind, floating amongst the stars.”

His heart did a flip, her words touching him in more ways than one. “You are an angel,” he mused, suddenly feeling like he had said too much as her eyes flicked up to him and searched his for an explanation. “My flat is up there,” he told her, “I've seen you come down here before.” He failed to mention that she had intrigued him enough to make him follow her. 

Silently. She regarded him, taking in his chiseled face, the angularness of his cheekbones, his strong jawline, watching the light as it speckled in the sea of his eyes, which glowed a greenish blue even at this dark hour. She was overcome with the sudden urge to run her fingers through the ruddy curls on his head, to nuzzle the scruff on his face, to feel the strength of the muscular arms she imagined resided inside the puffed sleeves of his jacket. T he chances that this would happen to her had been a million to one and she decided to take advantage of the situation. She acted surprised, saying, “I had no idea!” In reality, she had noticed him weeks ago, silently watching her from the shadows, always far enough away. Two could play that game. She grabbed a hold of his coat and stood on tiptoes, planting a soft kiss on his lips.

Tom was taken slightly aback, surprised by her forwardness, aroused by it. He was already excited by the prospect of actually talking with her and now this, this manifested itself as a tightness against his jeans. He embraced her, kissed her back, soft lips upon soft lips, and he heard her sigh. She released her pull on his jacket and laced her hands behind his neck, fingers tenderly playing at the hair on the nape of his neck. His arms relaxed, their heaviness resting on the small of her back. 

When they finally let go of each other and liberated each other from the kiss, Kate stared into his eyes, a frightened fawn. “I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me,” she cried, her voice full of worry.

“Don't be,” he reassured her, “It was wonderful.” He smiled, a charming gesture that did more than disarm her, and gathered her up in his arms again. “Now that we know each other a bit better, do you fancy a drink?”

She nodded, allowing herself to stay in his embrace as they made their way back to his flat. As they walked, she began to shiver and he gallantly removed his jacket, draping it across her shoulders, rubbing her to help her warm up. She could see his paper thin shirt, then, the cotton stretching against his muscles. She tried to hand him his jacket back, but he, being too much the gentleman, refused.

Once they reached his flat, he swung open the door and held it while went inside. It was sparsely decorated, almost utilitarian, with few photos on the walls, an angular couch with matching club chairs, a wooden coffee table and a matching side-table next to one of the chairs. She guessed he kept it this way due to being home less often than not. “You have a lovely flat,” she complimented.

Tom guffawed, “It's wonderful of you to say so, but I'm afraid it is rather drab.” With that, he helped her remove his coat. As she stood before him, he stirred again, his desire manifesting in an embarrassingly visible way. 

Kate caught sight of the bulge growing against his jeans, the denim already being tight enough as it was and she dropped to her knees in front of him, fingers like lightning deftly undoing his zipper and releasing what laid beneath. Tom didn't fight her as she pulled his jeans and his boxers down and then pushed him gently backwards until he was sitting on a chair, half-naked. His manhood sprung to attention, unleashed, and she scooted between his knees. Her tongue began to flick the head, making his muscles twitch. She reached a hand up, circling the base of his cock with her fingers and began slowly moving them up and down the shaft, tip to testicles, her touch gentle against the satin skin. He leaned his head back and moaned as she wrapped her lips around and slid his entirety into her mouth and to the back of her throat, her tongue playing against him as she sucked. Her teeth deliberately scraped softly as she moved, something that made him even crazier, pulled him into the throes of desire. He groaned in pleasure as his manhood spasmed, spilling into her and she swallowing it, taking it until he was spent. 

Kate sat up, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled wickedly. “I know who you are,” she admitted, “And I've seen you following me.”

Tom was speechless. All he could manage was, “I... you...” before she continued.

“I've also had dreams about you, fantasies. Have you dreamed about me?” He nodded, ashamed and casting his eyes down until she stood up, caught his chin with her finger and bought his face up to hers. “Would you like to live those dreams? I would.” She kissed him hard, deeply, letting her lips crash into his, letting her tongue explore his mouth so he could taste himself on her.

He reached for her, his hands finding her dress, pulling the zipper down in the back and grasping at the fabric, yanking it down to reveal that she wore nothing under. He pulled away from her, cocking his eyebrow. “Do you think tonight's meeting was just chance?” she whispered. “I've been waiting for you to approach me.” 

He pulled her closer, one hand on her back, the other sliding easily into her delicate folds, already sopping, waiting for him. She hummed as he slid in one then two agile fingers inside her and began working her. His mouth delved towards her mound, his tongue seeking her. He inhaled her dusky fragrance, a scent that turned him on even more and made rise to his manhood once again. She writhed against him as his tongue flicked and his fingers worked, each hitting a different spot that sent her nerved spiraling towards a precipice of abandon. With each stroke, her breathing got more ragged and her hips rose up to meet him until a wave of ecstasy washed over her in a sea of moans, she cried out his name. 

Withdrawing from her, he lifted her, now weak-legged, onto the couch, spread her legs wide and speared her with his cock, full to the hilt. She cried out, gasping with pleasure and was soon mewling with each movement, each flex of his hip, each time he would pull out until only his tip was submerged in her, then slamming down, grinding himself deeply into her. 

He leaned down, grasping a nipple gently between his teeth, letting the scrape as he let go. He licked her, suckled on the hard nub of her breast with each thrust until he felt her walls constrict around him. He could feel her heat rising as she came, pumping against him and it was enough to send him well over the edge, their orgasms melting together until both collapsed in a heap of perspiration and sex.

Tom withdrew and stood up, looking with satisfaction at her, still spread on the couch, their juices spilling from her. He smiled smugly. “I never imagined anything like this,” he said, basking in the afterglow. 

Kate rolled to her side and stood up in front of him, tiptoeing to kiss him once again. “I did,” she giggled.


End file.
